


1980s Horror Film

by spaceysev



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, mini series, semi forced proximity, spencer just wants to make you feel better, unsub is after reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27028582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceysev/pseuds/spaceysev
Summary: When the FBI comes calling to inform you you’re next on a bizarrely ritualistic serial killer’s hitlist, you find yourself immediately escorted to Quantico for your own safety. Dr. Reid elects to keep you company in hopes of calming you down, but with the scares the near future is bound to have in store for you, you don’t think you’ll be catching your breath any time soon.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	1980s Horror Film

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea I had for the Halloween holidays! This fic is loosely based on the songs 1980s Horror Film and Drunk on Halloween by Wallows. I hope y'all enjoy!

The agents were starting to get on your nerves.

There really wasn’t any good reason for it. They were being perfectly kind — when they bothered to talk to you like you were actually in the room, that is, though with three other victims of the deceased variety and a serial killer actively gunning for you, you figure you shouldn’t take that too personally — and the one named Jennifer had asked more times in the last hour than anyone else in your life had in maybe, well, _ever_ if there was anything she could get you. You declined each time, sometimes rudely, sometimes in defeat, but that never stopped her coming back to ask again. When this was all over — and you prayed that an end would come quickly, if only so you could go back to not being quite so on edge — you’d need to be sure to thank her for all her efforts to make you comfortable.

But that wouldn’t come until later, when you were safe, and each of the agents in the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI didn’t pause every six seconds to analyze you in some attempt to figure out the psyche of the serial killer gunning to cut you open. In some ways, you understood — you were, currently, the only direct key they had to understanding how the serial killer who was after you selected his victims, though it wasn’t like _you_ could answer any of the questions they had about the matter. Just because you understood, though, didn’t make the wandering eyes any less irritating, and you were counting yourself lucky that they were all just about to head home for the night so you wouldn’t have to worry about snapping in the next few hours.

“Okay,” Jennifer began as she approached, yet another kind smile occupying her features. “I’m stepping out for the night. The rest of the team will be leaving shortly, but our colleague Agent Anderson won’t be far. If there’s anything he can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You try for a small smile of thanks, but it’s hard to say whether it reaches your eyes. Judging by the poorly concealed concern in Jennifer’s gaze, you don’t think it does. “Thanks, but I’m all set. I already got this cozy cot set up in your boss’ office. What more could a girl ask for?”

Jennifer frowns, something like guilt tightening her perfect features. “I know the situation isn’t ideal, but this is—“

“The safest place for me to be, especially since this psycho likes to strike at night,” you sigh, unable to help a dejected roll of your eyes. “I know. I’m grateful, truly, but this still isn’t exactly what I would call great.”

“We’re gonna catch him,” Jennifer assures you. She sounds so resolutely positive that you’re inclined to believe her, even though there’s the issue that they still can’t even tell you who _he_ is. “Just… try and get some rest tonight, okay? You’re safe here. I’ll have whoever from the team leaves last come check on you one last time before they head out. Good night.”

“Night,” you tell her, and she smiles one last time at you before heading out the office door, once again leaving you to your lonesome.

You should try to get your mind off it, you know. Thinking of something else was imperative to getting to sleep for the night, and though that was the last thing on your mind right now, trying to wind down was certainly more productive thank sinking into your own body numbing panic. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, and now that you were by yourself, you had all the time in the world to think.

Someone wanted you dead. Someone out there in the world, someone you’d had contact with in your daily life, someone wanted to _kill_ you. You hadn’t managed to get much information out of anybody — _There’s no point in working yourself up over it,_ Jennifer had told you. You’d wanted to scream at her, tell her she’d be of a different opinion if she was the one whose life was hanging in the balance, but you’d managed to hold yourself back. Though you had every excuse in the book to lose your cool, she didn’t deserve you your verbal abuse. Even in your state of frightened paranoia, you could recognize that none of this was her fault.

Why this was happening to you, you didn’t know. You _wished_ you did. If whatever was making you a target for the rampaging serial killer was something changeable, you’d take care of it in a heartbeat. If it was the way you dressed, you’d fix it. If it was your willingness to be kind to strangers, you’d be meaner. Anything, _anything_ to get you out of this terrifying mess. Anything that meant you got to go home and sleep in your own bed and not have to worry about whether someone was going to break in to your apartment and—

“Are you doing okay?”

The gentle voice startled you out of your reverie, though you couldn’t help flinching out of reflex at the sudden intrusion despite how quietly it had been spoken. Blinking yourself back into focus, your eyes shot over to the door, where you found the tall, lanky frame of one of the BAU agents taking up space in the doorway. The one with softer features than the rest, though you didn’t know whether that spoke more to his youth or his naivety. The one with a certain boyish quality about him that you couldn’t quite place, though he carried his head high and had a surprisingly confident set to his jaw, one that contrasted directly with the sheepish, almost bashful tone of voice he’d had when speaking to you. The one whose name you couldn’t quite recall, which was a testament to the ordeal you’d been through in the past few hours because you’d never be careless enough to forget the name of such a beautiful man on any regular day.

The itch of tears trailing down your skin brought you back to your senses, and as you reached up to swat them away, you realized there was no way he _hadn’t_ seen them. “Just peachy,” you snarked, instantly feeling badly over the tone you’d taken. Whatever; there was nothing to be done for it now, and you could agonize over your rudeness when a pretty stranger _wasn’t_ busy witnessing your terror. “Really just having the time of my life. Can’t you tell?”

And you swear if you concentrate, _really_ concentrate, you can just make out the ghost of an amused smile curling the corners of his lip upward in response to your bitter attempt at sarcastic humor, but it quickly becomes overshadowed with concern at spying the tears still brimming in your eyes. “Sorry to interrupt it,” he murmurs, stepping out of the entrance and closing the door behind him, and something about his tone is so meaningful that you believe he’s genuine. He detours by the desk at the far side of the room to pick up the box of tissues sitting on its corner before making his way over to you and setting them on the filing cabinet just beside your cot. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Agent Jareau asked if I would check in on you before I went home for the night.”

You blink, reaching for a tissue and wiping the rest of your tears away, thankful that this man is kind enough _not_ to force you to talk about your emotional state. At his introduction, though, you pause, the familiarity of the name taunting at something in your mind. “You… you’re the one who called me. Before.”

Spencer nods leaning his weight against the filing cabinet he’d set the tissues on and absentmindedly tucking a particularly unruly strand of hair behind his ear. “That was me,” he confirms, leveling another kind smile your way. “I, um, I was actually the one to get you out of your house, too, but… I mean, you were pretty upset, so you might not remember much of that.”

The unfortunate truth, actually, was that you remembered Spencer collecting you from your home and escorting you into the protective arms of the FBI a little _too_ well. More specifically, you remembered having nothing short of a mental breakdown on the phone at the news that a serial killer was targeting you, looking to murder you in some horrible, awfully gruesome manner, and all for some reason that Dr. Reid had declined to inform you of over the phone. He’d been kind enough to talk you through all your debilitating paranoias, kind enough to stay on the phone with you until he’d gotten to your home with his partner — Morgan, if you remembered correctly — and rushed in to make sure you were in one piece. Though he’d told you on the phone that they were just outside, though he’d warned you that they’d be coming in to collect you and take you into protective custody, you’d still lost your mind at the sight of a stranger in your home and immediately rushed him, kicking and screaming and begging for your life, your safety, your… well. Everything, really.

Luckily for Spencer, you were a horrible right hook and ended up doing more damage to yourself than to him, but unluckily for _you_ , you’d been out of your mind in that moment, and had lost the impulse for self preservation. Spencer had calmed you down and restrained you long enough to stop your attempts at gouging his eyes out in self defense, but every last bit of composure you’d been clinging to instantly vanished, and you’d been left a bawling mess, falling apart in the loose, awkward embrace of his arms as you begged him not to let anything happen to you, as you desperately implored him to keep you safe.

More than a little embarrassing once you’d managed to calm down, to say the least.

“Right,” you muttered, dropping your eyes to the floor. It was nothing against Spencer, with his kind eyes and reassuring expression, but you were just about at your wit’s end, here, and you really didn’t have enough composure left in you to be the sweet, dainty girl you assumed he’d enjoy interacting with. “Well, all things considered, I’m just fine. So, if that’s all…”

Instead of taking the hint, instead of leaving you to your solitude and allowing you to wallow in your misery, Spencer simply readjusted his position against the filing cabinet and folded his hands together. “I’m… Look, I don’t mean to pry, but you’re crying, and I… kind of get the feeling that when you say you’re fine, you’re not really telling me the truth.”

“An astute observation, Dr. Reid,” you muttered, wringing your hands together. “Really, someone ought to give you a medal.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind passing that along to my boss,” Spencer chuckles, and the gentle joke is so at odds with the defensiveness that anyone else would have responded with that it practically jolts you into civility. By the time you realize this, he’s already shifted from the filing cabinet to sitting at the edge of your cot. Not quite close enough to invoke feelings of familiarity, but just enough to let you know that if you want to, you can confide in him. And, it’s silly, but you kind of think you want to. “So… you don’t have to tell me why you’re crying—“

“Oh, _thank you_ for the permission.”

“— but if you _want_ to,” Spencer presses on, “I’m here to listen. No offense, but I imagine pretending nothing’s bothering you gets to be exhausting after a little while.”

“You’d be the expert,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest, but you turn more fully to face where Spencer’s seated himself.

He was being kind to you — that alone was reason enough to grasp at some manners and stop being so defensive, but there was another, more personally beneficial one as well. Jennifer had been awfully tight lipped about the man pursuing you — who he was, what he did to his victims, why he was so interested in you. But… Spencer wasn’t Jennifer. Spencer also felt kind of bad for you. Taking all that into consideration, maybe he would be more willing to give you the answers you were looking for.

More willing, _and_ more interested.

“You know, I do have a few questions” you begin, hugging your legs to your chest and tucking your chin against your knee. You wondered if you looked as small and pathetic as you felt. “I don’t… know that you’d be willing to answer any of them, though.”

Spencer arches a brow at you, and you subconsciously take note of the way that his eyes narrow the slightest bit, though it’s hard to tell whether that’s fascination or a sweeter kind of curiosity. “Well, I can’t try to answer them until you try asking them.”

Alright, well. Worth a shot at least.

“I was wondering...” You trail off and set your jaw, clearing your throat before trying again. “I want to know about the man who’s trying to kill me.”


End file.
